Winter in the mountains is my least favorite time of year. The green leaves are gone and litter speckles the landscape. The verdant valleys and peaks are drab in gray and brown with boney tree fingers scraping at the sky.
The land is soggy and bleak. The best thing is that with every passing day, spring is one day closer.
Then the snow comes, blanketing the ugliness in a winter robe of diamonds. All is transformed and death forgotten in the majesty of breathtaking trees and peaks draped in the whiteness of snowfall.
Weathermen play guessing games and children keep their fingers crossed that morning roads will be impassable and a day of play will be waiting for them.
If not for these brief reprieves, I could not bear the winter months in the mountains. The whiteness reminds me of how God’s love blankets our transgression and covers our iniquities. The slate is blank, without blemish or blot. All is beautiful when the new day comes forth.